This one-day-early version of CM Blog is brought to you courtesy of my local CBS affiliate. In all of their infinite stupidity, the station opted to preempt this week's episode of Survivor with a shoddily made (locally produced) pre-game special and tonight's San Antonio Spurs basketball game.
Fine. It's the first game of the first play-off series, but we're talking about Survivor, people. This show consistently remains one of CBS' most highly rated shows in the past decade. It's an outrage. OUTRAGE.
Can you tell that I am upset about this? I am not even a sponsor!
My local, terrible CBS station is planning to broadcast Survivor later at 12:30 am. Even confirmed owls such as myself won't be up to watch it live. Here's the thing about the delay, it messes up my favorite part of watching tv - dishing crassly with friends during the commercial break or via instant messenger. As soon as the camera cuts away from the action, cue the mobile. I could probably make the argument that this part of the viewing experience is more pleasurable than watching the show itself. Fandom is powerful and addictive.
I've tried, but with American Idol and Survivor, it's just not as fun to watch it alone. The social dimension makes it, especially when the shows take surprising / creative / strategic turns. At their best, it's pure exhilaration. Every now and again, I watch a show after its initial airing on DVR. This happens when I have evening plans or my usual viewing companions are similarly disposed. The only way to describe the experience is flat, even dull.
With tonight's Survivor, my curiosity got the best of me and I had my loyal phone friend give me the updates of the action and challenges during each break. Even though I already know the outcome of the vote (and it was definitely a doosy), I'll still watch it myself. I'll have my cake and eat it too.
Yes, prime time television is that important to my little life.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Ladies Night
In English, there really isn't a gendered equivalent to the term Ladies Man. And no, I don't mean the sleazy Tim Meadows' SNL character of the same name and of reputed courvoisier-sipping fame. Taken literally, ladies man could be a male who is most comfortable in the company of females.
Were the situation reversed, you would never call such a gal a Gentleman's Lady. Not only does the phrase sound clunky off the tongue, it doesn't feel like the right descriptor. Call me what you will, but I am woman who feels most herself in the company of men.
In high school, I was thick as thieves with many great girlfriends, spending a particularly high amount of time with my field hockey and lacrosse teammates. But in the decade since, I've amassed a much higher number of male friends, probably at a three-to-one ratio. Case and point, at my wedding, I was supported by a Maid of Honor (my sister and only sibling) and a self-proclaimed Man of Dishonor (also known as my gay best friend, a frequent contributor to this blog).
Ever since arriving in San Antonio, I've greatly expanded my set of female friends - warm, funny, smart, awesome women. Last night I went out for "girls night," a casual dinner and wine tasting at a local haunt. It's been forever since I did something like this. While we talked about lots of things, at one point, the conversation turned to bras and turned sharply to boobs. Ladies night out, indeed.
Between the 10 of us, we have well over 150 years of brassiere wearing experience. Yet, despite our assumed expertise on the topic, no one had a solid recommendation about the best bra on the market. We might as well have been rating jock straps or garden hoses, no one felt strongly enough about the matter to be able to tell a friend. There we were, ambivalent and to a degree, dissatisfied about nearly all bras for some reason or another.
In the past, I was tempted to try out the Spanx bra, a kind of revolutionary undergarment that seems to me, very 21st Century. Despite the fact that I've spent more money on clothing items I've barely worn, I just can never justify the $62 price tag. For you toothpicks and string beans out there, Spanx is a line of slimming undergarments designed for those of us who want to tighten up various body parts without actually exercising or dieting. They are, coincidentally, a life saver (and much sleeker and more comfortable than a rubber girdle).
Many women, myself included, also expressed an unwelcome anxiety associated with bra shopping, citing (oddly) two uncomfortable customer service experiences with meddling Russian salesladies. Given how self-conscious the shopping experience is, I know that I have just picked the best of the worst to escape the store and be done with the confounded chore.
Even though I didn't leave the evening with any special tips or insight into the issue, sometimes it's nice to be in a like-minded company of sisters.
Were the situation reversed, you would never call such a gal a Gentleman's Lady. Not only does the phrase sound clunky off the tongue, it doesn't feel like the right descriptor. Call me what you will, but I am woman who feels most herself in the company of men.
In high school, I was thick as thieves with many great girlfriends, spending a particularly high amount of time with my field hockey and lacrosse teammates. But in the decade since, I've amassed a much higher number of male friends, probably at a three-to-one ratio. Case and point, at my wedding, I was supported by a Maid of Honor (my sister and only sibling) and a self-proclaimed Man of Dishonor (also known as my gay best friend, a frequent contributor to this blog).
Ever since arriving in San Antonio, I've greatly expanded my set of female friends - warm, funny, smart, awesome women. Last night I went out for "girls night," a casual dinner and wine tasting at a local haunt. It's been forever since I did something like this. While we talked about lots of things, at one point, the conversation turned to bras and turned sharply to boobs. Ladies night out, indeed.
Between the 10 of us, we have well over 150 years of brassiere wearing experience. Yet, despite our assumed expertise on the topic, no one had a solid recommendation about the best bra on the market. We might as well have been rating jock straps or garden hoses, no one felt strongly enough about the matter to be able to tell a friend. There we were, ambivalent and to a degree, dissatisfied about nearly all bras for some reason or another.
In the past, I was tempted to try out the Spanx bra, a kind of revolutionary undergarment that seems to me, very 21st Century. Despite the fact that I've spent more money on clothing items I've barely worn, I just can never justify the $62 price tag. For you toothpicks and string beans out there, Spanx is a line of slimming undergarments designed for those of us who want to tighten up various body parts without actually exercising or dieting. They are, coincidentally, a life saver (and much sleeker and more comfortable than a rubber girdle).
Many women, myself included, also expressed an unwelcome anxiety associated with bra shopping, citing (oddly) two uncomfortable customer service experiences with meddling Russian salesladies. Given how self-conscious the shopping experience is, I know that I have just picked the best of the worst to escape the store and be done with the confounded chore.
Even though I didn't leave the evening with any special tips or insight into the issue, sometimes it's nice to be in a like-minded company of sisters.
Friday, April 3, 2009
What's in a Name?
johnnycake: noun - a baked cornmeal flatbread.
Johnny Cupcakes: proper noun - a store that once broke my heart.
About a month ago, my good friend Lisa and I were shopping on Newbury Street in Boston. We were fat and happy following a delicious lunch, but I was, as always, looking to become even fatter and happier with a little help from some baked goods.
We had just finished looking at handbags when we were drawn to an off-street-level shop by a force stronger than any martian tractor beam. There, in the window of a handsome brick building, was a giantline drawing of a cupcake with the word "fresh" dancing above it. Saliva moistened my mouth and my heart pumped faster than the beat of a Lady GaGa song at the thought of the sugar and sweet, spongy cakethat would be mine in just a few moments.
I had been to other upscale bakeries specializing in cupcakes, Sprinkles in Beverly Hills and Magnolia in New York City, and was over the moon that we stumbled on their Boston cousin. What would I choose? Red velvet? Chocolate coconut? Good old vanilla with chocolate frosting?
As Lisa and I climbed the steps towards our indulgence, we asked eachother, "How could these be calorie-free?" as another sign advertised. We found our answer when we entered Johnny Cupcakes.
It's not a bakery at all, but rather, a t-shirt store, with a signature logo replacing the skull in the familiar skull and crossbones design with the silhouette of a cupcake. Shirts are displayed in ovens, with their colorful fronts stylizing Pez dispensers, or bearing the slogan "always fresh-baked." That mayappeal to those who enjoy marijuana recreationally, but I don't, so wouldn't want a shirt that could be interpreted as such.
More garments show panda bears eating cupcakes. Now, I like pandas,and I like cupcakes, but I wanted to wrap my mouth around a glob of frosting, not a limited-edition shirt.
We sweet-tooth shoppers were terribly disappointed when we figured out the meaning of the calorie-free signs. Everyone else in the store seemed to know what was up, snatching Boston Red Sox-inspired cupcake shirts and holding them to their thin, never-eaten-a-cupcake bodies to check for size. I later learned Johnny Cupcakes is equally popular in other big cities, too, using fun events like grilled cheese parties to drive youthful consumers to the boutique shops.
The company website does indicate that if I were in the store on a weekend, and had bought a high-quality, made in the USA shirt, I would have gotten a real home-baked cupcake. The founder (whose name, I presume, is Johnny) also writes on his site that several colleges have invited him to lecture on effective branding and marketing. Still stung by not being able to satiate my craving for cream cheese frosting that day, I am quite sure I would skip that lecture.
I'm glad this company seems to be thriving. Too many stores along Newbury Street have closed. But I'm stubborn. I wouldn't buy a cupcake from a store called "World's Best T-Shirts," so I don't expect to buy a t-shirt from Johnny Cupcakes.
- Jacktastic
Johnny Cupcakes: proper noun - a store that once broke my heart.
About a month ago, my good friend Lisa and I were shopping on Newbury Street in Boston. We were fat and happy following a delicious lunch, but I was, as always, looking to become even fatter and happier with a little help from some baked goods.
We had just finished looking at handbags when we were drawn to an off-street-level shop by a force stronger than any martian tractor beam. There, in the window of a handsome brick building, was a giantline drawing of a cupcake with the word "fresh" dancing above it. Saliva moistened my mouth and my heart pumped faster than the beat of a Lady GaGa song at the thought of the sugar and sweet, spongy cakethat would be mine in just a few moments.
I had been to other upscale bakeries specializing in cupcakes, Sprinkles in Beverly Hills and Magnolia in New York City, and was over the moon that we stumbled on their Boston cousin. What would I choose? Red velvet? Chocolate coconut? Good old vanilla with chocolate frosting?
As Lisa and I climbed the steps towards our indulgence, we asked eachother, "How could these be calorie-free?" as another sign advertised. We found our answer when we entered Johnny Cupcakes.
It's not a bakery at all, but rather, a t-shirt store, with a signature logo replacing the skull in the familiar skull and crossbones design with the silhouette of a cupcake. Shirts are displayed in ovens, with their colorful fronts stylizing Pez dispensers, or bearing the slogan "always fresh-baked." That mayappeal to those who enjoy marijuana recreationally, but I don't, so wouldn't want a shirt that could be interpreted as such.
More garments show panda bears eating cupcakes. Now, I like pandas,and I like cupcakes, but I wanted to wrap my mouth around a glob of frosting, not a limited-edition shirt.
We sweet-tooth shoppers were terribly disappointed when we figured out the meaning of the calorie-free signs. Everyone else in the store seemed to know what was up, snatching Boston Red Sox-inspired cupcake shirts and holding them to their thin, never-eaten-a-cupcake bodies to check for size. I later learned Johnny Cupcakes is equally popular in other big cities, too, using fun events like grilled cheese parties to drive youthful consumers to the boutique shops.
The company website does indicate that if I were in the store on a weekend, and had bought a high-quality, made in the USA shirt, I would have gotten a real home-baked cupcake. The founder (whose name, I presume, is Johnny) also writes on his site that several colleges have invited him to lecture on effective branding and marketing. Still stung by not being able to satiate my craving for cream cheese frosting that day, I am quite sure I would skip that lecture.
I'm glad this company seems to be thriving. Too many stores along Newbury Street have closed. But I'm stubborn. I wouldn't buy a cupcake from a store called "World's Best T-Shirts," so I don't expect to buy a t-shirt from Johnny Cupcakes.
- Jacktastic
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